If you can't be with the one you love, honey...

The show ended, as always, with the usual "cast party". Having been to several in my adult years with "professional" actors, an overnight stay in a local scout hall is possibly not quite on a par with such debauched soirees. The most exciting activity involved, beginning with the current year's extravaganza, videos of the show from years gone being replayed on a clunky, ancient, top-loading VCR, in reverse chronological order. This ritual was intended to last all night, for those who could stay awake that long. The charming tradition allowed all who remained conscious to witness themselves getting progressively younger and gawkier, and the new cast members to see that everyone, even if they are now cool semi-adults, is retarded, spotty, and awkward in their teenage years. Okay, admittedly they were in scouts in their early twenties, which is probably not the coolest thing to be doing, but at least they had rusty Land Cruisers to take their scouty girlfriends overnight to the mountains in. That was cool enough.

Mostly people arrived with their sleeping bags, and propped themselves up to watch at least the performance from which they'd just finished. Even though we had heard all the terrible jokes, sung all the choruses, and our legs were still tired form the dance routines, we had not seen our show before this point. It was at the same time joyful, seeing all our work complete, and sad, knowing that we would never, ever repeat that performance. After the final curtain, the plan was to make it through the previous year, and the one before that, until breakfast. In reality, most were asleep before the first tape was rewound and those that were still awake had little interest in the colourful antics of yesteryear, and a great deal of interest in how much they could feel through two layers of sleeping bag. Not much, I'll admit, but there were real adults supervising, so it wasn't even remotely possible to actually get down to anything obscene. Much. The prospect of a wristie with a happy ending in your own sleeping bag was less than appealing anyway.

But Emily wasn't there, anyway. Not that I think she would have even contemplated such a thing. Her parents were apparently concerned about her spending the night in a dark room full of teenage boys. While she protested at length that it was no big deal, and nothing would happen, and it was all supervised, they were right. A room full of teenage boys, ramped up on red cordial and chocolate and cake at three o'clock in the morning is no place for a young lady. But after our kiss, I am not sure she would have even spoken to me, as she barely had for the rest of the production. But Emily was not the only girl in the cast.

Bernie was freckly. Put simply, that was the first thing anyone would notice when they first saw her. Her entire face, and presumably most of her body, though I never got to see much of it, was covered in a layer of reddish brown freckles, so thick it was easier to count the places where her pink skin emerged than number the actual spots. But she was pretty, despite that. Not that anyone paid much attention. She was also loud and boisterous, I guess it was a defense against the cruelty of adolescents. She was always around, making loud and obscene jokes and generally making the boys laugh, and the girls whisper behind their hands.

Bernie decided to camp next to me, rolling out her sleeping bag between mine and a mate's while we were scoffing supper, and slipped into her winter weight bedding when we began to watch the show. Her commentary was hysterical, and soon I was laughing a familiar over-tired, wheezy, childish laugh that began to hurt my ribs and bring tears to my eyes. As the night turned into morning, her volume reduced, and as those around us slipped into heavy sleep, we found ourselves whispering and chuckling through two or three tapes. Eventually, even the minders were asleep, and we lost interest in the video, talking about various random, important and trivial topics in hushed tones, and giggling intermittently at jokes which would not have raised a laugh at any other time, or to anyone else.

I found myself laying side on, facing her, my head propped on one elbow, she mirroring my reclining pose. She made some joke, and I laughed my head off it's perch, and onto my now outstretched arm. She slowly dropped hers so her hand was stretched out above her head, and her fingers entwined with mine in the dark. I rolled slightly forward and kissed her on the lips. They were soft, and moist, and as I drew back I looked into her eyes in the flickering light of the dancing chorus on the TV. She looked back, and leaned forward to kiss me back, properly. I flicked my eyes up for a moment, and spied the windows over her shoulder The grey light of the pre-dawn illuminated them quietly, and the rush of cars passing occasionally on the road nearby echoed quietly in the empty old hall. Then I closed my eyes, and focussed on her kiss, not wishing to end the moment.

She did it for me, drawing away slowly and rolling onto her back, resting her head on her faded pillow slip. I moved slightly toward her, and still holding her hand, snuggled in next to her. She released my free hand, and I put the other over her as she rolled away from me, pulling me with her. She turned back toward me and kissed me again quickly, but gently.

"Goodnight" she said. And we slept. And I was smiling.